


… Megatron gets

by aellisif



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Bottom Megatron, Breeding Kink, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Other, Sexual Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aellisif/pseuds/aellisif
Summary: With Optimus Prime in his brig and in chains, there is nothing stopping Megatron from finally living his dream of fragging the Prime.Barring some unexpected event.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 14
Kudos: 106





	… Megatron gets

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Megatron Wants …](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178042) by [aellisif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aellisif/pseuds/aellisif). 



> Ta so much @ [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose) for helping with the tags and feedback, and to be entirely clear, Optimus and Megatron are engaging in a negotiated, consensual scene where Optimus is being held prisoner in this fic ^^

There were only a few strips of light illuminating the room through gaps in the blinds, and Megatron stopped and took a moment to appreciate how they played over the shiny, red-and-blue plating before he stepped into the room fully and closed the door.

Blue optics followed him, narrowed and suspicious, and the chains clinked quietly when the mech on the floor turned his helm to follow Megatron’s progress. It sent a surge of excitement through Megatron, that gaze. He almost preened at having the Prime’s full attention, but kept himself in check. No. He was in control, he _would_ control himself.

But someone else could stand to lose a little control.

One command and the chains suddenly rattled as Prime jerked on the floor, optics spiralling open, a gasp leaving his intake, muffled by the mask. Megatron had to suppress a moan at the display, then drew a sharp vent when the flare of an EM field met his, arousal and desperation mingling. A hiss escaped him as he dropped to one knee and roughly grabbed the blue helm to turn the optics to him. Prime stared back at him, defiant and obstinate, but now Megatron was touching him, he could feel the small tremors running through his frame. He smirked.

“I see I was right in leaving you to enjoy yourself on your own for a while.”

Blue optics hardened. Megatron let his own caress the prone form. A short chain around his neck kept Prime close to the floor, unable to rise further than a crouch. His wrists and legs were also chained together, with just enough chain in between them to give him some freedom of movement, but render him unable to escape. One long, long leg was half covering the other, and Megatron recognised the pose – Prime had been rubbing his thighs together before he entered the room, most likely trying to find at least some relief, some more stimulation that would allow him to overload. The toy in his valve was on too low a setting to do the job, and Megatron felt his own charge jump as he imagined Prime writhing on the floor, stubbornly biting down on any noises that would alert Megatron in the next room.

Who could not _wait_ to reap the fruits of his patience and, more importantly, Prime’s desperation.

“These chains suit you awfully well, Prime,” he murmured, returning his gaze to the blue optics staring at him. “But the floor is very uncomfortable, is it not? How about the two of us move somewhere else? Somewhere more – comfortable?”

Prime’s optics flitted to the low bench at the other side of the room and Megatron smirked, allowing himself to stroke a digit down the broad chassis, stopping on Prime’s abdomen. “You know I will give you release if you let me have what I want.”

Prime spoke, his deep voice holding an undercurrent of desperation. “Why me, Megatron? Why not Starscream, Soundwave or any other Decepticon?”

Megatron hummed, his valve contracting almost painfully around the emptiness inside. “Why indeed, Prime.”

“You cannot really want to carry my sparkling,” Prime said and Megatron shot off another command. Prime’s whole frame jerked as the toy in his valve picked up speed, and a broken moan emanated from behind the mask. Megatron glared down at him.

“Do _not_ presume to tell me what I want or do not want, Prime!”

“Megatron, please -”

With a clink, Megatron disconnected the chain from the loop on the floor and stood, pulling on it. “Up, Prime!”

Even bound, Prime managed to look graceful as he struggled to his pedes, and Megatron’s processor fogged over with pure _need_. He truly could not understand how Prime could be so utterly _stupid_. No bot with a functioning evaluation unit would ever go for Starscream or even Soundwave as a progenitor if they could have Prime.

And Megatron could, if Prime would just cooperate a little. It was ridiculous, really, how opposed he appeared to be to fragging Megatron – he would have thought the Prime would enjoy having Megatron limp and moaning underneath him, but instead, Prime was putting up this wholly unnecessary fuss -

“Megatron, please, give yourself some time to reprocess this!” Prime said, half gasping, on his pedes now and staring at Megatron pleadingly. “You must realise that even your own troops will not be happy if you have my sparkling -”

“Let my troops remain my concern,” Megatron snarled, annoyed at the stalling. He wanted, _needed_ Prime’s spike, needed to feel the rush of transfluid into his gestation chamber, and he tended to get what he wanted. Ruthlessly, he turned the vibrator in Prime’s valve to the next-higher setting and the mech almost stumbled into him as his whole frame shook with the increased stimulation.

“Oh! Oh, Megatron!”

Unthinking, Megatron reached out to steady him, arm sliding around the slender waist, and Prime ended up pressed against his chassis, trembling and choking, and Megatron _wanted_. With a snick, his modesty panel opened and he pressed his pelvic span against Prime’s, the desperation transmitting into him. “Pressurise, now!”

His own knees went a little weak at the first contact of a substantial spike pushing between his legs, and Prime hid his face in Megatron’s neck and gasped “Megatron!” again, and Megatron almost forgot to keep hold of the chain. The field buffeting against his was powerful, filled with desperate arousal and need and then Prime moved and the spike between his legs slid along Megatron’s dripping valve and -

“Frag!”

He ripped himself away, venting hard, fans on their highest setting. Blue optics snapped open and Prime uttered a bereft, desperate sound, and before Megatron could process, he was pressing up against Prime again, lavishing kisses and caresses over the helm. Chained servos scrabbled at his chassis, and it took every last bit of self-control Megatron had to take a step towards the little bench. “No, Prime, we are not going to do this standing up!” he groaned. “Move!”

A rough tug at the chain around Prime’s neck got the message across, and Megatron could see how Prime struggled to anchor himself to that rather than the pleasure from the toy in his valve.

He moved in quickly. His thumb found the manual release for the mask and then he was pressing their intakes together, pushing his glossa in.

Fans screeched. Almost blind with need, Megatron continued kissing Prime, his free servo playing along the seams in the other’s armour that had the mech pushing ever closer to him. That spike was still rubbing along his valve, and -

With enormous effort, Megatron tore himself away from that wonderful intake, although he kept clutching Prime to himself, not entirely convinced he would be able to stay standing on his own. “Bench!” he gasped, and Prime made an incoherent noise, but moved, stumbled along when Megatron led them to the bench.

He fell to his own knees unceremoniously, spreading his legs open and tugging on the chain. “Down with you, and frag me hard!”

The hot, thick spike plunged into him in one swift stroke and Megatron moaned, his whole frame rattling. “Yes, yes, yes!” he chanted, gripping the chain so hard the metal dented, using it to pull Prime even closer. The second thrust was even better than the first, filling his valve perfectly, forcing open even the calipers closest to the gestation chamber. “Perfect!” Megatron gasped, and then pulled on the chain until Prime was leaning over him, his windscreens against Megatron’s back armour, blanketing him. He hardly noticed that Prime’s arms came up over his helm, enclosing him, his whole attention was focused on the spike inside him and Prime’s voice as he groaned, “Megatron, please – you cannot – mean to – to -”

“Harder!” Megatron almost yelled, roughly pulling the chain again. “Do what you’re told, Prime, and frag me through the bench!”

“Megatron -”

Rage and lust collided, and Megatron clenched down on the spike inside. “You want to know why I want your sparkling, Prime? Because you’re fragging _perfect,”_ he snarled, moving against the hips Prime could not stop from thrusting into him despite his best attempts. “You’re perfect and smart and strong and I want you to frag me through the bench and the wall and fill me up with your transfluid again and again until my chamber is full and I kindle and -”

Prime made a high-pitched whine and then shook Megatron with the force of his thrusts, the bench screeching as it was pushed over the floor. It was all Megatron could do to hold on as Prime bore down on him, each plunging thrust setting Megatron’s valve on fire. He choked, spreading his legs even wider to accommodate the warframe between them. Oh, he had waited for this so, so long. Eons of sharing his berth with no-one but the toy that was now lodged firmly in Prime’s valve, vibrating away, wearing down Prime’s ability to resist Megatron’s demands -

“Megatron, please reconsider!” Prime gasped into his audial, thrusts denting Megatron’s plating. “Please, do not do this to us, do not -”

Megatron moaned, his valve contracting around the spike. The field blanketing him was exquisite, burning with arousal, with _lust_ and desperation and something else, and this was what triumph tasted like. He could feel it, could taste it on the tip of his glossa, that he had _won,_ that Prime was not going to be able to stop himself from overloading into Megatron, and he could see it already. His speculation unit had no trouble supplying him with images of his own plating dented out, changing Megatron’s silhouette from flat, plane lines to something more round, something that showed to the world that Megatron the Miner, Megatron the Revolutionary had been sparked up, that he was capable and worthy of carrying a newspark.

Not just any newspark, either. No. The Prime’s.

The same Prime who was moaning into his audial now, broken pleas coming from his vocaliser. “Please think – consider the sparkling – what will you tell them – how will you _explain_ -”

Just the word “sparkling”, spoken in Prime’s deep voice, had Megatron shuddering hard and clenching down on Prime again. The other words he ignored, rejected. He wanted his CNA, not his words. Prime was a source of transfluid, he was the one Megatron had chosen to sire his sparkling on account of his strength and his frame, and because he was the Prime and therefore one of those who had tried to keep Megatron and everyone like him from having their own sparklings. He would show them. He would take every drop of transfluid Prime had in his tanks and kindle and have Prime’s very own sparkling and prove to everyone -

A red alert flared on his HUD. Megatron startled, and then suddenly things happened too fast. Prime brought up his wrists in front of Megatron’s optics and simply _ripped apart the chains_.

“No!” Megatron gasped, reaching out to catch the wrists, to pin Prime, not now, he was so close, _Prime_ was so close -

In one smooth movement, Prime slipped out of him and threw Megatron to the floor beside the bench. “NO!” Megatron roared, struggling to get up, he would not be denied -

\- and Prime fell down on him, ramming his spike as deep into Megatron as he could go, biting at Megatron’s mouth, pinning his wrists to the ground as he fragged him brutally. There was no struggle, there was nothing but two, three more thrusts and Prime yelling, and transfluid gushed into Megatron.

He did not even have time to realise he was overloading before he was.

* * *

Megatron came to on the floor, the light coming from the gaps in the blinds painting stripes on his armour. He felt sore and dented and scraped up, and there was a wet puddle underneath his aft, but his circuits were still humming with the pleasant afterglow of a processor-blowing overload.

Slowly, he sat up. Transfluid sloshed around in his valve, but the cover had been closed. Prime was nowhere to be seen.

Megatron vented for a few moments, simply drawing air in and letting it out, then he got up, found a rag and cleaned himself off as much as he could without taking a shower. Then he went to the door, wincing a little at the soreness in his joints, and opened it. The berthroom was bright and filled with the light falling in from the big ceiling window, a feature Megatron usually enjoyed. Now he spared it no glance as he moved to the other door and stepped out into the parlour.

Optimus looked up, his optics crinkling in a smile even as he put a digit to his intake and signalled him to be quiet. Megatron stopped and took stock of the situation. Optimus was sitting on the big chair, Belliatus on his arms, suckling drowsily on a sparkling cube. Bellus was in the sparkling berth, obviously deep in recharge. Whisper was nowhere in sight.

For a moment, Megatron’s helm swam as his processor tried to recalibrate, and then Optimus spoke, softly. “Are you alright, dear-spark?”

The familiar endearment brought Megatron back into the here and now and he crossed through the room, kneeling down beside the chair and looking down on his – their – sparkling. “What was the matter with them?”

Optimus chuckled quietly and carefully removed the nozzle from the small intake. “Belliatus’ attempts at walking by himself did not go well, and Whisper could not get him to stop crying. He has gone home now.”

Megatron leant forward and pressed a kiss to the little grey helm, except for the colour the spitting image of his sire’s. “There is no success without some pain involved, but it will go easier tomorrow.”

Optimus huffed, his field buffeting Megatron’s with fondness. “You are incorrigible. They are much too young to understand.”

He stood and placed Belliatus in the sparkling berth beside his twin, who promptly rolled over and snuggled up against his brother. Megatron stood, too, coming up beside Optimus and looking down into the berth. His servos twitched to touch the familiar plating, but uncertainty kept him from actually doing so.

A servo sneaked around his middle and Optimus stepped a little closer to him. “Look what we have made,” he said quietly, voice tinged with pride and deep affection. Something in Megatron uncoiled and he chuckled, leaning slightly into the touch.

“We? I do not recall you walking around with a belly the size of a small moon.”

Optimus nuzzled his helm. “I did bring you energon.”

“You did,” Megatron agreed, half reassured and yet still half at sea. Usually, when they went for a scene, it didn’t end as abruptly. Usually, they both had time enough to find their way back from Megatron’s war-time fantasy to the reality they shared, where Optimus had already and would gladly spark Megatron up again once the twins were a little older. Usually, it was Megatron who got to untie his bonded, took off the chains and ceremoniously put them in a box they kept locked away in a drawer so their sparklings did not find them.

Usually, Megatron had more time to remind his processor that the war was over, that Optimus was his for the asking, that the chains were there because Optimus enjoyed watching Megatron drive himself wild with desire as he “forced” Optimus into sparking him up.

The servo on his middle started stroking him. “I am sorry I broke character,” Optimus murmured into his audial. “I thought it would be better if we did not walk out to Whisper crackling with charge, and that seemed like the quickest solution.”

Megatron ex-vented. “He’s Jazz and Soundwave’s. Do you truly believe he doesn’t know what we were doing while he was sparkling-sitting?”

Optimus chuckled, but pulled him closer at the same time. “There is no need to provide him with physical evidence, is there? Dear-spark, talk to me.”

Megatron huffed. “I should be the one taking care of you, you know.”

It was his job to reassure Optimus after such a session that he did, in fact, not want to hurt Optimus. Not more than Optimus wanted to be hurt, anyway. But this time, their sparkling’s need for parental attention had interrupted the normal procedure, and Megatron felt as if he had fallen into a recharge flux.

Optimus stroked his middle, then pulled him to the chair and sat them both down, Megatron seated comfortably in his lap. He smiled up at him, blue optics guileless and full of affection. “Then tell me.”

Megatron hesitated. But he had spoken the words several times already, and they came to him. “Do you remember when I first asked you to berth me after the peace treaty meeting?”

Optimus nodded. Megatron weaved their digits together. “I still wanted to possess you,” he said quietly. “I wanted to _own_ you, any way I could. I was hoping you would accidentally spark me up, so I could lay my claim to you.”

He brought the other servo up and cradled Optimus’ cheek, looking deep into his optics. “You are not someone to be owned, Optimus Prime. You are not a thing to be possessed, or to be made to bend to someone’s will. You are more than a source of transfluid and good CNA.” He looked at the berth and felt his spark swell with pride and overwhelming love. “You stayed with me when I was not able to give you sparklings. And now, you are the sire of my sparklings and the one I trust to bring them up to be good bots. You are my bonded and my Prime, and I will keep and cherish you for as long as you wish to stay with me.”

Optimus smiled and touched their forehelms together, his free servo coming to rest over Megatron’s spark. “I am where I want to be,” he said quietly. “And I am truly sorry that I deviated from the script.”

Megatron chuckled, the uneasy feeling leaving his spark as their fields meshed and pulsed affection to each other, deep, reassuring, pure affection that could not be faked. He felt amazingly light. He knew who he was again, and who Optimus was, and just what they were to each other. “It came as a surprise. Prisoners are not supposed to be able to simply tear apart their chains.”

Blue optics twinkled. “Then perhaps you should not give them the command to open their chains.”

“Probably not,” Megatron agreed and shifted himself into a better position on Optimus’ lap, one that allowed him to be closer. “Although, in all honesty – it is not like I could not imagine you trying to break your chains and overpowering me …”

Optimus smirked, his engine starting to purr. “Be careful, dear-spark, otherwise I might get the impression that you _liked_ me breaking free and turning the tables on you after you had tormented me for the better part of the afternoon.”

Megatron thought back to the start of their scene, to how Optimus had tried to kick him as he put the chains on him, then spread his thighs and shocked his valve cover open to insert the vibrator into him, how the blue glare had promised dire retribution for the liberties Megatron was taking with his prisoner’s frame – and promptly heard his own engine rev. Optimus rumbled a laugh. “I see.”

Megatron scowled at him. “Do you?”

Optimus let go of his servo to instead wrap his arm around Megatron’s middle, still smirking. “Well, I know for sure that me resisting you with all my might gets you revved up …”

Megatron shivered a little as he remembered how easily Optimus had freed himself and thrown Megatron to the floor, but instead of hurrying out to check on their sparklings, finished them both off. It was not like he could not see it, either – Optimus in the Decepticon brig, Megatron coaxing him, making him submit and then, when Megatron was lost in his own pleasure, Optimus snatching the opportunity, paying Megatron back like for like.

“You are starting to run hot, dear-spark,” the deep voice whispered into his audial. “Shall we maybe take this to the berthroom and take our time while they are in recharge?”

Megatron cleared his vocaliser. “I’ll – think about it.”

Optimus chuckled, his gaze filled with heat. “Very well. Now. Berthroom?”

Megatron scooted back and stood, holding out a servo to his bonded. “Yes,” he said, and took Optimus to the berthroom and proceeded to make love to him.


End file.
